


It's Erotic Photography for a Good Cause, Cap!

by HepG2



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Erotica, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Photo Shoots, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HepG2/pseuds/HepG2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Christine Everheart charity can be married with creativity. And eroticism. And superheroes. She wanted the Avengers to model, unmasked. </p><p>
  <em>And then it got a bit carried away, maybe they were both having a bit of fun now, because Steve didn’t shrink away aghast when Tony prodded his tongue into the warm cavity – just for a quick tease, a show for the camera if he could – and the hand that was on Steve’s thigh ventured boldly upstream to cup wholly at his crotch. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I have no idea what happened. This plot bunny just came to me when I woke up this morning. It's the 5th day of Chinese New Year, people are still praying in temples, and I'm writing PWP. Gosh, I should be ashamed of myself. Enjoy. Let me know what you think about the story, the writing, the characters, and what tags I should use because I'm fine with the whump-y ones (my usual works), but I'm not so sure with this one.

Sometimes people set up tributary administrations to front something they’re interested in, passionate about, but not really as a primary inclination. For Tony Stark, it was the Maria Stark Foundation that served this purpose. He’d been contributing to it generously every year for the past two decades. They had galas too, mostly for tycoons and the sort who had more money than they know what to do with them. These people “donated” generously, frequently. Well, if they didn’t know what good they could do with the ka-ching then might as well let someone else figure it out for them, no? Tony didn’t have time to go through the actual logsheets but the numbers at the bottom of the page with double underlines seemed substantial enough to fund advanced medical tech and researches. 

Something good out of capitalism, hallelujah.

But to Christine Everheart charity can be married with creativity as well. And eroticism. And superheroes. It all sounded loony when she first pitched her idea. She e-mailed to Tony's work address at SI. It went to Spam. She e-mailed again, to no avail. Until then she dropped a message personally to Bambi Arbogast. That finally found its way to Tony, who thought it was… spam.

“But she looked and sounded really sincere about this, Mr Stark. And it’s for charity, so it can’t be all that bad, can it?”

Tony thought the only reason he’d spared the memo a second glance was because Bambi thought it was a good idea. And this was the woman who single-handedly grew a five-digit bonus into a million dollars in a cleverly placed investment in agriculture. So turned out Christine wanted to recruit the Avengers into her “Photography for a Good Cause” campaign. The fine prints stated selling compilation of photographs of superheroes (unmasked only!) where 80% of the proceeds would go to funding education and humanitarian support at war-torn countries. Now everybody knew the best way to deal with a disease is to root out the actual cause of it, not just abetting symptoms. Like how Bruce put it to Thor over Friday dinner, to actually cure cancer, one would do better in targeting the cancer stem cells directly. Go straight for it. 

Maybe Christine'd have more success building mind-bamboozling machines - mess up people's noggin so they'd stop waging wars - but hey, Tony himself (and the Avengers, SHIELD, the NSC, the UN and what have you) have been in this sorry affair right from the start and guess what, it was shit business.

So maybe this photography BS wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

Tony texted everyone on the Avengers line with a scan of the memo attached. Clint sent back a photo of himself flipping the bird. How many affirmative response so far? _Two._ That meant Thor and holy cow, Steve fucking Rogers. 

Tony called him immediately. “Steve, it’s a freaking photoshoot, all right? I thought you don’t deal well with publicity and… blatant showcasing of patriotic narcissism? This doesn’t sound like you.”

“The unmasking part is a little difficult to digest, and obviously only Thor is comfortable enough to go through this, and well, who’s behind Captain America hasn’t been much of a secret anyway. It’s just the two of us for you, Tony. I’m sorry. I wish I could convince more to come.”

The entire talk was awkward. It felt like trying to jump on eggs without breaking them. Truth was, the entire SHRA fiasco was just several years ago. Steve came back, Clint came back, hell _everyone_ came back, so it was fine. Everyone was friends with everyone again, so Tony called that a win. But not really. Because of shit like this, like when something threatened to pick at the scab over the SHRA-wound-as-big-as-a-lobotomy-drill, things would somehow end up in this general direction. Steve would compromise wherever pre-Civil War-Steve wouldn’t, and the rest would just turn their necks the other way wherever possible. And Tony didn’t like that one bit because he needed these degenerates to keep him in line. Hadn’t the War at least taught them this much? 

Christine Everheart wanted superheroes to unmask, divulge their covers again to be _sold away_ as a fucking book, yeah, not gonna happen. 

But Steve said yes. He’d said yes because Tony asked for this favour. 

Tony slipped his cell phone into his pocket and let his forehead rest on the cool surface of the dining table.

It’d hurt him too. 

Thor was up on the chopping block first. It was a balmy summer morning and there was a pool, lots of suntan lotion and water apparently, and Thor had a blast. Christine and Tony met up for a quick lunch the day after since he was in the area. Something must’ve gone pretty well because she was thrilled and just couldn’t stop harping about how gamely the Asgardian had been, and two minutes into the mindless chatter it’d dissolved into shameless adulation of how _sexy_ he was. 

Tony choked on his soda. 

“What?”

“Yeah! He’s got some really nice abdominal muscles, and the way those pelvic bones dip into a V –”

“Whoa hey, stop right there. That’s my bunkmate you’re talking about. Just because he’s not from around here doesn’t give you the right to take advantage of him. Of wait, it’s you, I expect nothing better –”

“I have his consent, he knows what he’s getting into –”

“Uh, you just desecrated a God’s good name, turned him into some LA gigolo – this isn’t what he sign up for. Isn't it just gonna be some campy I-am-mighty poses with his mother’s drapes and the hammer –”

Christine’ eyes grew wider by the second. Tony stopped talking and drained his drink.

“Don't you do know what kind of photography I do nowadays, don’t you?”

She then showed him her portfolio on a Stark tablet. He swapped one picture for another in rapid succession. Five in and he was ready to bolt. 

Then Steve appeared out of thin air, said his good afternoon’s and pulled a chair beside Tony. He was dressed casually in a button up, maroon chequered shirt – his Tuesday shirt, because Steve’s wardrobe followed a rigid weekly rotation – but the hint of white undershirt around his collar was not there, probably because it was still too hot for multiple layers of clothes. Well no matter, Tony thought darkly, Steve was going to lose everything anyway when Christine got her way.

“OK, Thor may be game for this thing, but Cap may think otherwise. So.”

Tony passed the tablet to Steve, ignoring her protests. Steve took it reluctantly. True enough, the more he swiped through the portfolio the higher his brow went and the lower his jaw dropped. Tony couldn’t keep himself still, eager to watch Steve blush at the semi-pornographic material of male models baring it all. Maybe he’d just up and squeak “Sorry, ma’am” all the while spouting steam from his ears. 

“It’s _erotic_ photography for a good cause, Cap,” Tony announced chirpily, toasting his glass to Christine in mockery. This is where Steve would do all the aforementioned. 

“You’re right.”

Tony choked on the remainder of his soda. 

“I’m _what_?”

“You’re right, Tony. It’s a strange way of raising fund for charities nowadays but thing’s gotten stranger since the 40’s.”

“Steve, this _is_ strange. Even by my standard.”

“OK, but the second portfolio is about discharged war veterans who’ve lost limbs, and there’s a compilation too where proceeds go into their welfare fund. I mean, it’s strange sure, but… not really.”

Tony put his empty glass down on the coaster. “Oh God, you’re not going all artsy on me now, are you?”

“They’re beautiful photographs.”

“Thank you,” Christine beamed, as Tony let out a guttural groan in the background. “Um, do you gentlemen mind doing a co-shoot? I’m not available for yours tomorrow,” she looked pointedly at Tony, who scowled in return, “so we’ll have to bring it forward, but I’m thinking, it may be even better having both Captain America and Iron Man in the same page. What do you think?”

"I didn't know you agreed to doing this too, Tony."

Oh boy.

When Christine showed them the studio they were supposed to work in, Tony looked around with disdain. A super lush rug in front of a fireplace?

“Are you trying to kill us, lady? A fireplace in the summer? Air-conditioning going full blast aside, this setting looks like a copy from some cheap porno studio. Not gonna do, sorry.”

She puffed, her DSLR pouting at the ground.

“Right, where do you suggest then, Mr Stark?”

Tony spared Steve a meaningful look, then he said, “My place. The Tower.”

They all piled into Christine’s Audi and were soon on their merry way home. Tony, quite comfortably riding shotgun, chanced a glance at Steve from the rearview mirror. Despite his best effort at putting up a brave front, Tony could see past it like candy glass. Steve hadn’t spoken much, in fact didn’t speak unless spoken to, and his eyes darted all over the place, restless. His hands were deep in his pockets, another sign of insecurity. Tony did feel sorry for his friend, but don’t say he didn’t warn the Cap. 

Tony’s private suite didn’t differ much from the other Avengers’ in terms of layout, and it wasn’t nearly as gaudy or superfluous as his inventions tend to be. Maybe the innocent looking vase by the TV was worth as much as Christine’s car, maybe, but despite the Spartan-feel to his home, it was still well-kept and tastefully decorated. So it had been bestowed the aesthetic touch of Pepper Potts, well done. Tony motioned them closer to a couch, grey and straight backed against the floor-to-ceiling see-through windows, with Manhattan sprawling behind them.

“Truly exciting indeed, Tony,” Christine complimented, assessing the suite. This one looked vastly different from the Malibu home – of course she would know. 

Tony plumped himself ungraciously on the couch and patted the empty spot next to him. Steve took it warily.

“Cap, take it easy all right? I’ll lead, if you’re unsure about this.”

Steve didn’t look at him, but he nodded nevertheless. A flash of confidence shone in his deep blue eyes and Tony clapped him amicably on the back. Atta boy.

“All right gentlemen, we’ll start with a little warm-up. Sit closer, I need to get you both in the frame from this distance.”

Tony grew up as a Stark in front of cameras. He knew how to position himself between takes. Steve grew up in the Depression as a nobody. He didn’t like the attention, so he held himself stiff and kept his eyes glued to a fruit bowl. Tony somehow moved beside him so subtly, and judging by the small bits of encouragement from Christine, nothing had gone horrifically wrong yet.

Then the sofa pitted as Tony shifted his weight. His arm came around Steve, not really touching as he’d just rested it on the back of the sofa. Steve did jump a little when Tony inclined towards him, and he realised the billionaire was watching him, a slight frown in place. 

“Are you OK?” he asked softly, concerned.

“Yeah.”

At this proximity, Steve could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. Then he heard a passing whisper, “Don’t hurt me now, Steve.”

What?

Tony inclined his head, his lips brushing against Steve’s earlobes. He would’ve vaulted, high-tailed, if not for Tony’s steady hold on the back of his neck. He’d stopped breathing, extremely aware of hot breaths ghosting his nape, or dry lips clamping gently along his jawline. Another hand crept up his chest and tugged lightly at the collar. Then the same, kind whisper in his ears, “Steve, breathe. I got you.”

_One, two, one, two…_

Steve kept his mind trained on the rhythm. Tony rested his hand on Steve’s thigh while he worked his mouth down the neck now, steadily heading for the collarbones and his throat. Steve turned away instinctively, and Tony withdrew. Those wet spots where the billionaire had suckled on felt cold, but just as quickly as he was gone, he was back on it with a new game plan. 

He cupped Steve’s chin and before _both_ of them knew it, their lips closed on each other.

Spur of the moment crap. They heard the camera click. Steve tensed. It could be Tony’s way of diverting Steve from Christine, or maybe he was really having fun, and he moved against Steve, his lips a gentle massage on the other’s. 

“ _Breathe_ , Steve…”

Right, he forgot to do that again, but the moment he relaxed his stance, a slight opening in his mouth, Tony seized the opportunity with restrained vigour, kissing Steve in earnest. Oddly the super soldier found it easy to respond. There was something about Tony that rendered the entire scene not as crazy, or maybe it was how Tony was leading them, his actions promising that he wasn’t just _taking_. And then it got a bit carried away, maybe they were both having a bit of fun now, because Steve didn’t shrink away aghast when Tony prodded his tongue into the warm cavity – just for a quick tease, a show for the camera if he could – and the hand that was on Steve’s thigh ventured boldly upstream to cup wholly at his crotch. 

Suddenly there was that distance again, and cease of movements. 

Steve had somehow managed to lock Tony in his place, one arm pinned against the sofa while the other, the one that was now _not_ groping Captain America firmly wrested away in a vice grip. Tony tried to pull away but Steve still had the shock registered on his features. They were both panting for breaths, and Christine had lowered her DSLR.

“Gentlemen?” she called out apprehensively.

They both turned to her and Steve quickly let go of Tony, who in turn massaged his arms to ease the circulation back. It was going to bruise, that was certain, but on the bright side at least he wasn’t flung out of the window or punched in the teeth for the stunt. So, that was another win.

He leaned into Steve again, the approach cautious and deliberate – in case Steve decided to throw him out of the window after all – and he now rested a hand over Steve’s chest. He could feel the blood pumping out of Steve’s palpitating heart, strong and wild, and he tugged playfully at the collar again. As if a prompt to start breathing – at this rate, Tony wouldn’t be surprised if Captain America _pass out_ in the middle of it – he took in several deep, slow ones, and Tony started picking at the buttons, one by one. 

Steve froze again. He could hear Tony’s plea in his numb head – _don’t hurt me now, Steve_ – and it was the only thing that helped reign in his reflexes. He did however, through the fog that was his consciousness, push back at Tony’s shoulders meekly, fearful that the bones there would just snap if he wasn’t careful, but Tony didn’t budge, didn’t even stop his ministrations. When his shirt came half-undone Tony slid a warm hand in, feeling the toned pectoral muscles that flexed ever so minutely as Steve tensed under the touches. Tony went south, taking out any buttons that were standing in the way and finally pulled the shirt apart, baring the sculpted torso of Captain America.

Christine momentarily stopped taking pictures, and when Tony turned to check if something was wrong, he realised the lady – like all others – was positively ogling (drooling) at the gorgeous display of sex on legs. Steve started pulling at his shirt for some form of cover while Tony jabbed acerbically, “Lady, eyes through the lens.”

Just as Christine went back to doing her job, and Steve had calmed down somewhat, Tony dug his nose into the crook of Steve’s neck, his tongue careening along the length. Wet and hot, and there was a faint sense of urgency in his work. He latched onto Steve’s chin again, and this time, not allowing the super soldier time to adjust, he kissed him again. The hunger was pronounced, and he made it clear he wasn’t going to play polite games anymore. He bit at the lower lips, and he swallowed Steve’s gasp as his tongue dove in. He pulled away the shirt that Steve had carefully re-adjusted across his chest and ran a hand carelessly down the side, purposely brushing a nipple with his pinky as we went along. There was a belt there, and then there wasn’t, and he pulled the zipper of Steve’s jeans down with haste. 

“Tony…”

Tony looked down at Steve again. Knowing him, there would be a maelstrom of emotions on display, but Tony disregarded the confusion, the faintest hint of stop-this-is-as-far-as-it-goes, and he dipped his hand into Steve’s briefs. Steve’s head was thrown backwards, hitting the firm backrest of the sofa as Tony clenched around him, and Tony braced himself for a punch – he totally deserved this one – but Steve merely stared at him with glazed eyes.

And then there wasn’t common sense, nor logic, nothing, just Tony plunging in for another messy kiss, his hand working religiously under the covers of denim, from balls to the tip, and God, Steve was hard as hell. He didn’t look like wanted this at all but the traces of wanton lust and need all etched across his face betrayed him. And Tony couldn’t fault him. A handjob is a handjob after all. No need to be gay to relish in the pleasure.

Pre-cum started leaking from the head and Steve, in rather un-Captain America display of lack of self-control, reached out for Tony as well. He deepened the kiss, muffling Tony’s yelp of surprise and almost lifted him single-handedly off the sofa to hold him at his waist. But Steve was Steve, and Tony smiled, against the sloppy laps at his cheek, that this was as far as Captain America would go, because Tony didn’t consent him to do anymore beyond this, even if Tony was obviously reaping everything that Steve’s body had to offer.

Charity rocks. 

Tony could feel Steve pulsate in his hand. His eyes were squeezed shut, breathy moans escaped him and his hips rolled in the seat. Christine was snapping away rapidly and Steve started shaking. Tony thought this was it, this was where they’d draw the line. He had to stop. 

And all his breaths were knocked out of his lungs and his back collided with the sofa. He lost all sense of directions – suddenly he wasn’t sitting anymore, he couldn’t move either as something exceptionally heavy was pinning him down good, and his shoulders and back hurt, hot and unforgiving. He saw white. He blinked frantically, and slowly he could make out the outline of Steve hovering above him, and Christine, her DSLR hanging around her neck as she tried to pry the super soldier away from him.

As his ears began to regain their function, he heard a shrill, high-pitched voice telling them to cool it down, don't outright murder each other – at least, not while she was still on the premise – and surreptitiously held a tissue box for Steve. Tony was still too winded to respond when Christine asked if he was OK. She hurried off to the living room, bumbling something about giving them space and privacy. Then the door slammed shut and there was just the two men on their own. 

Steve pulled several pieces of tissue from the box and dabbed them across Tony’s stomach. He flinched, and Steve suddenly looked extremely apologetic. 

Oh, because Steve had accidentally ejaculated all over Tony as he flipped the billionaire onto his back among throes of pleasure and undiluted panic.

“So,” Steve said after clearing his throat, “you want to use the shower first?”

Tony rolled the socket of his arms and felt a surge of pain. He sighed, “I think I dislocated my shoulders.”

“You know this is going to happen. I get freaked out, my reflexes take over and I eliminate threats. I could’ve killed you before I even know it.” He dug the heels of his palm into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this. I put you in harm’s way –”

“Don’t be stupid. Nobody’s forcing us to do anything.”

Technically, Steve agreeing to do this shit was what forced Tony to say yes too, because of course he couldn’t let have Steve hog all the limelight and have all the fun now, could he? 

He couldn’t let Steve go alone.

“We’ll get that fixed. Stay here, I’ll get the ice pack.”

“There’s first aid under the bed. Bedroom’s first door to the left.”

Steve fixed himself first and sighed audibly as he spotted more cum stains on his pants – Tony did not miss the blush. Guess it wasn’t too bad after all. Steve wasn’t wound up as tight as he thought he was, and all in all, minus the unfortunate injury, it had been a _superb_ afternoon. 

Bet Christine would agree, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm entertaining the idea of another ending, which is more angst-y than this short one. I want go to explore their relationship post-Civil War a bit. It'll probably take away the flow and general feel of the story, so I may just write it up as a second chap, so if you wanna stop here and not, you know, suffer a mood whiplash, you can. Thank you for reading and please review ^^


	2. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the coda I mentioned about. It's angst-y. So if you prefer the story to end on a lighthearted note, that was Chapter 1 for you. I'm a sucker for angst-y, whump-y fics, so naturally, I kneel before my inner sicko self. Enjoy.

Two weeks after and Tony had completely forgotten about it. His shoulders were healing and without the pain to remind him of the circus, he had other important matters to attend to. Like fighting evil and saving the world, running a company, and a modest pile of mails to go through. It was sometime past midnight and he brought everything down to the common sitting area with him, tucked under his armpit, his free hand holding a steaming cup of caffeine.

As he took his seat on the floor, he settled the cup on the coffee table and fished out a large brown envelope. It was heavier than his usual mails and upon flipping it to the back, he noted the ostentatiously slanted penmanship that screamed unmistakably of Christine Everhart. 

As he tore it open, he looked over his shoulders to check if the parameter was secured. 

Out came several pieces of 4R photographs. He poured them all into his lap and chose one randomly for further scrutiny. Did Steve get a copy of this as well?

As he sifted through them, he had to inwardly compliment the lady for actually knowing how to immortalise all the right moments. She did not make it her absolute intent to zoom into their faces – so if someone were to think of these models as other men they could. Well there was a minor giveaway though, the outstandingly unique facial hair of Tony Stark captured in almost every single frame. Well that… was beautiful. Tony snickered to himself, absorbing all the ego the photos were projecting.

Christine had purposely focused on the touches instead, and they weren’t all erotic. Tony shifted his weight on his bum as he lifted one particular photo to eye level. Even from here, he could see the way Steve hold his shoulders, doubtful, worried that he would break Tony with his super strength. And there was the hand that he’d rested on Steve’s back, trying to lull him to some sense of security, to ease the disquiet away.

When Tony let himself loose around Steve’s neck, kissing every inch of flesh he could find, Steve had held him close, a firm arm around his back, curled around to reach his waist. He wasn’t aware of it back then, but here, it was so plainly observed.

And one of the later photos, when Tony was pumping Steve in earnest, they’d both looked fleetingly into each other, and Tony saw vulnerability in his own eyes, but trust in the other’s. 

Tony remembered caressing the front of Steve’s bare abdomen, the muscles taut as he was close to salvation. Tony also remembered holding Steve like that in that sterile room, the make-shift morgue, after Steve Rogers was pronounced dead. They’d wrestled in the couch for dominance, but that time Steve didn’t wake up no matter how loudly Tony called for him, or how much he shook him.

And these memories still haunt him at nights. Steve’s blood on his hands, as with many others - he could never erase. Ever.

“Tony?”

Tony started, and quickly gathered all the photographs – now strewn around – and replaced them in the envelope. He recognised that voice. He’d recognise it anywhere.

Steve bent to collect a stray piece he’d missed. He looked at it for two hard seconds and Tony couldn’t find it in him to snatch it away. He took it only when it was proffered back.

“Thanks,” he muttered coarsely. 

Steve suddenly cupped him by the side of his head. There was the familiar penetrating gaze, those blue eyes that were Steve’s, and Tony jerked away, but not before Steve thumbed a streak of tear that had cascaded down his cheek. 

Tony froze at that. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand and was just as startled when Steve lowered himself beside him.

“Can I sit here?”

And the tears kept flowing. He cast his head down, the stillness broken by the occasional gasp for breath. He shook with silent sobs, and he knew Steve sensed every single one, but neither cared for meaningless consolation. The thing was, this was how this particular night was going to end for them both. Not with Tony lying wide awake in bed too afraid to see Steve dead on the gurney again, or Steve going for another round with the sandbag thinking if he was irrelevant to the cause anymore. Tonight, they were going to be here for each other, and though neither had ever said it, they knew it was right.

That it wasn’t worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks. Thank you for reading to the end. Please review, so I can improve, and hope to see you again in future fics ^^


End file.
